Page 49 of Between Love and War
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
As I shut the door and make my way back upstairs, I hear Haley coming up behind me. “Kate,” she says in a serious tone that she rarely uses.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. Because I have a feeling about where this conversation is going.
“He calls you ‘Katie?’ And you’re being mean to him? When did all of this happen?” she asks.
I push open my bedroom door, hoping that physical barriers might end this conversation. No such luck. She slips in right behind me like a mosquito.
“What do you mean, when?” I ask, grabbing a hoodie from my chair and pretending to look for pants.
Haley gasps. Actually gasps. “Katherine!”
Here it comes.
“You’re never mean,” she says, pointing at me like I’ve committed a federal offense. “You’re polite to telemarketers. You apologize when people bump into you. And now you’re out here throwing sass like a seasoned flirt?”
I groan. “I’m not flirting.”
She ignores me completely. “And ‘Katie?’ No one calls you ‘Katie.’ Not even me. And I’ve been with you since thewomb. As your older sister, I need to understand.”
“You were born three minutes ahead of me,” I mutter.
“Still counts.” She hops on my bed, criss-cross applesauce, clearly settling in for a full psychoanalysis. “He calls you Katie, you let him, and you roast him like it’s your love language. Katherine—face it. You like him. And he likes you!”
I throw on the hoodie. “I don’t.”
“Sure,” she says, smug. “And I’m not currently playing a green witch in a musical where I belt notes from my spleen.”
I groan louder. “You are the worst.”
“And you, my dear,” she says, “are indenial.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me aboutdenial, Miss we’re-just-friends,” I say.
Haley gapes. “Okay, I’m gonna let that slide since I like this new feisty side of you that somehow only the national athlete sees.”
I roll my eyes.
“Now go wash the swamp off your face and go play fake family with your not-boyfriend.” She rolls off the bed dramatically.
“And wear pants, for God’s sake.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Michael
Eleven minutes later, I hear the doorbell.
“I was expecting you through the back,” I say, as I open the door for Kate. She’s now wearing pajamas beneath her oversized shirt. Her face is free from the green gunk, and her hair is all over the place.
“And risk Polly seeing there’s a secret gate to another house? No, thank you,” she says, removing her shoes to enter the house.
“See, that’s the kind of thing I can’t think of,” I say as she walks in. She tosses her small bag on the couch and surveys the living room.
She eyes the stack of coloring books, juice boxes, and a half-inflated air mattress in the corner. “This is... not the worst setup I’ve ever seen. You might actually survive the night.”
Just then, a thump echoes from the upstairs bedroom, followed by Polly’s voice yelling, “I’M NOT TIRED.”
